


Day 15: Delicacies

by thebright1



Series: An Ineffable Plan: A Canon Compliant Love Story [15]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Angst, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Or sort of resolved, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:54:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22747393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebright1/pseuds/thebright1
Summary: “Just looking, angel,” Crowley says softly. He spreads his legs wider, one hand sliding up his thigh. “Has Heaven regulated your eyes, too?”Aziraphale’s lips purse. He’s suddenly furious . . . and aroused. “Has Hell regulated your heart?”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Nanny Ashtoreth/Brother Francis (Good Omens)
Series: An Ineffable Plan: A Canon Compliant Love Story [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620406
Comments: 17
Kudos: 159





	Day 15: Delicacies

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a direct continuation of [Day 8: Touch](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22622956) which is a continuation of [Day 2: Roses](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22536775), but all the stories in this series are linked together, so if you want a full picture of what exactly is going on, please start with [ Day 1: Chocolate](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22520329). 
> 
> All the works in this series are also posted as a chaptered work for easier reading/downloading: [ An Ineffable Plan](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23081191/chapters/55213303)
> 
> All the stories in this series are written for the Ineffable Valentines challenge on Tumblr.

May 28, 2015

Aziraphale knows this a situation that requires significant delicacy. He knows exactly how he would handle this situation with a human.  _ Oh my dear, how embarrassing. I do hope we can put this behind us and still be friends.  _ He knows how he would handle the situation if it had been anyone from Heaven.  _ This will help me understand the humans better. If I am to sway them from Hell’s grip, it’s become clear to me that I must understand all of their vices.  _ He is sure that this explanation would include some askance glances, but feels confident that masturbation does not break any explicit rules, so it would work. 

What he does not know is how to explain this to Crowley. So he needs to tread cautiously. They can’t afford another . . . situation like what happened when Crowley asked him to go on holiday right now. The end of the world is coming and they need to work together if they are going to thwart Hell’s plans (they’re Heaven’s plans, too, but Aziraphale feels sure that Heaven wants to avoid destroying all the humans, too . . . at least that is what he tells himself). This means that Aziraphale’s gut instinct to avoid Crowley for at least a few months or possibly decades is not going to work. 

He has been practicing what he is going to say all night. In between wank sessions. To his complete dismay, masturbation has not seemed to cool his ardour. If anything, Crowley walking in on him has just increased his longing to touch and be touched. He had read about refractory periods and hoped his own would be quite a bit longer than 3-4 hours. He’s had to stop rehearsing his speech two more times deal with his erection and his fantasies of Crowley. What if Crowley had come into the room and actually touched him, instead of watching? How long  _ had _ Crowley been watching? Had he moaned Crowley’s name? What would it feel like to actually have Crowley touch him as he came? To tell him,  _ I love you, _ finally? What if he went to Crowley and Crowley demanded sexual congress as retribution? Aziraphale knows such a ridiculous situation is not even remotely likely, but that doesn’t stop his traitorous imagination which supplied him with thoughts of llicking and sucking Crowley’s dripping pussy until Crowley was a moaning writhing mess and Aziraphale had almost shouted as he came. 

It’s getting toward dawn now. Aziraphale dresses himself carefully in his Brother Francis costume. He glues on the prosthetics with spirit gum and begins to put on his many layers of clothing. He looks askance at the bed and sighs. He’s not sure how to explain the appearance of the bed and the satin sheet miracle to Heaven in his next report, or how to explain his desire to change it back into a loveseat. It doesn’t fit neatly into any of the good checkboxes-- the ones for miracles that have been deemed by Gabriel as being: 

  1. Necessary
  2. Appropriate, and 
  3. Bringing the most glory to God. 



He’ll have to say it was for his own corporation’s comfort. The forms have gotten more and more specific over the years. The box that says “Corporation Comfort” is one that Aziraphale has had his hand slapped for using on many times in the past. He decides that he’ll just have a bed in his room from now on. Maybe he can buy some additional pillows with his wages from the Dowlings to make it more comfortable for reading. 

Aziraphale has gotten as far as pants, trousers, and button-down shirt when he feels a tingle in his spine and hears a sharp knock at the door. 

_ Oh. _

He opens the door and Crowley stands there in Nanny Asthoreth’s perfectly tailored suit, all sharp edges and crisp black lines. His face is immaculately made up, wine red lips and blush and eyeliner he can see behind the dark glasses. Aziraphale feels his breath leave him in a rush. 

Crowley inclines his head. “May I come in?” he asks. 

Aziraphale nods and stands aside. He shuts the door behind Crowley, then turns. He keeps his eyes squeezed shut, and balls his hands into fists by his side. It’s easier to do this if he can’t see Crowley’s face. He begins to speak, and the words tumble out like a veritable geyser of information. 

“Crowley, I want to apologize, I am so sorry that I did not hear you come in, and I don’t want this to make things bad between us again. I know we need to work together if we’re going to stop this, and I do want to stop it, because I want more time with you. I just want you to know that that was the first time I had ever done that before, and if I had known you were there, I would have stopped immediately. I just thought it might help me, I’ve been having such trouble concentrating, but I thought I was alone. I have truly been enjoying our interactions and I have missed them-- I’ve missed you-- oh so much, and if we can just get through this, then we can be friends again.” He pauses to take a deep breath. “I do so want to be friends again, and I feel like we are getting there, and I think this plan of ours is really going to work out, and we’ll be able to save humanity. Young Warlock does seem like he’s just a regular child, neither good nor bad, I think it’s all going to be just fine in the end, I think we’ll succeed, and we can be friends again, like we were before . . . before everything that happened.” He’s not sure if he means before Crowley asked him to go on holiday or before he realized that Crowley was in love with him in the ruined Churchyard during the blitz. 

Aziraphale opens one eye to peak at Crowley. Crowley has removed his sunglasses. They dangle from his shirt, nestled between his small, high breasts. Aziraphale’s eyes can’t help but rest there, before he looks up at Crowley. 

Crowley catches him and shakes his head side to side in a tsk tsk manner. “You really are a bastard.” He crosses his arms over his chest, calling more attention to his cleavage with the motion. Aziraphale is pretty sure he’s done it on purpose. 

_ Which one of us is the bastard?  _ Aziraphale thinks. He says, “That was a heartfelt apology!” 

“I wasn’t talking about your apology, and you know it,” Crowley says. He uncrosses his arms and straightens his blouse. 

Aziraphale feigns ignorance. “What  _ are _ you talking about?”

“You know bloody well what I am talking about-- you were eyeing up my tits!” 

Aziraphale clears his throat. “Well, you are putting them rather on display,” he says prissily. 

“That’s rich, coming from you!”

Aziraphale looks down at his corporation and back up at Crowley. “What on earth does that mean?”

“I mean, I’m not the one who had to ask for help retrieving a hoard of naked pictures from a Playboy photographer!” 

Aziraphale’s mouth drops open. “That was decades ago!” he huffs. 

“Seems like just yesterday to me,” Crowley retorts. He puts on a falsetto voice. “Ooh, Crowley, I’ve made a big mistake and took all my clothes off, and let some smarmy wanker take pictures of me, come help me!” 

Aziraphale’s eyes narrow. “That was not how it was at all!”

“Oh, that’s exactly how it was!” Crowley snarls. 

Aziraphale sniffs. “Perhaps  _ you’ve _ forgotten which one of us is the demon who wears pants that are so tight you have to miracle them on and off!” 

“Perhaps you’ve forgotten which one of us was having a wank and sent out a distress call to the other person through your love token!” 

“It’s  _ not _ a love token, and I didn’t--” he stops, aghast. “Did I?” 

Crowley sneers. “Do you want my mouth, angel? Do you want me to put my mouth on you?”

Aziraphale’s cheeks flame to hear the words of his fantasy puppeted in Crowley’s actual voice. “I didn’t know, that is . . . I didn’t realize you could hear me.” 

“Well, I could,” he says moodily. “Why do you think I showed up here?” He sighs heavily. “I thought you were . . .“ he drifts off. “I hoped.” He doesn’t say any more. He doesn’t need to. 

Aziraphale’s whole body seems hot. His knees feel weak, so he sits down on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that I. . . I mean . . .” Embarrassment swells over him like a tsunami. 

Crowley purses his lips. “I realized that. When I opened the door.” Aziraphale puts his face in his hands. He can’t look at Crowley. It’s one thing to fantasize about him privately, it’s another to actually make him actively aware of it. “I should have left immediately.” There’s a long pause. Aziraphale feels the mattress underneath him shift as Crowley sits to his left. “Angel, what are we going to do?”

Aziraphale sighs. “I don’t know.” _ I’m so desperate for you _ , he thinks. “Crowley, we can’t-”

“I know,” Crowley agrees. “We have to get through the end of the world first.” He doesn’t say what will happen after. Aziraphale isn’t sure what will happen after, if anything. He can’t imagine Heaven will suddenly let up on the rules they’ve enforced. But God can change things. She can help. Surely, if he can learn to love this demon, then there can be peace between Heaven and Hell? If he and Crowley can stop the Apocalypse, then there can be peace between the two sides. And humanity can survive. And maybe then he and Crowley can . . . can stop worrying. Maybe then they can be free. What Crowley has always wanted. 

Aziraphale sighs. “I’m so sorry, my friend.” 

All the fight has gone out of them. Aziraphale feels Crowley lace their fingers together. “Are we going to be friends? After all this?”

Aziraphale aches for Crowley. “Of course, my dear.” He squeezes Crowley’s hand. “Always.” He stands and reaches to pull on a vest that’s nonexistent. “Look, in the meantime, I’ll be more careful.” 

Crowley doesn’t stand. Aziraphale can see his fingers running up and down the rumpled sheets. “You’ve really never . . . I mean, that was the first time? In 6000 years?”

Aziraphale ducks his head. “I take it you are . . . more experienced.” 

“A bit, angel,” he drawls. “I am a demon, after all. Tempting people to lust and sin, that’s who I am.” He leans back on the bed, spreads his legs suggestively. “A right cock tease.” 

Aziraphale rolls his eyes. “Really.” 

Crowley raises an eyebrow. “You’ve given me quite a bit of fantasy material, angel. Would you like me to return the favor?” His skirt begins to ride up. “I’d be happy to.” 

Aziraphale’s breath catches. His eyes bore into Crowley’s, glance down to his legs. 

“Just looking, angel,” Crowley says softly. He spreads his legs wider, one hand sliding up his thigh. “Has Heaven regulated your eyes, too?” 

Aziraphale’s lips purse. He’s suddenly furious . . . and aroused. “Has Hell regulated your heart?”

Crowley raises an eyebrow at him. They are playing a very delicate game with each other. One wrong move and the whole thing will explode in their faces. 

Crowley is, of course, the one brave enough to make the next move. He flutters one hand to his chest, removes the sunglasses from where they hang in the vee of his blouse. He tosses them to Aziraphale, who clumsily catches them. 

“Even if you don’t want some fantasy material, I think I do,” he says. “I want to lie here, where you were touching yourself. I want to slide myself around on these satin sheets where you came last night.” He unbuttons his jacket, tosses it aside, slips off his shoes. Aziraphale watches as he lays back on the bed. Crowley puts a hand up and begins to unbutton his blouse. Long fingers with dark red nailpolish flick at each small round black button, revealing more and more skin. At the last button, Crowley looks up to catch Aziraphale’s eyes. Then he takes his blouse off. A black and red lace bra engulfs his small breasts. Crowley puts the blouse aside, then turns his back to Aziraphale. “Help me out of this?” 

Aziraphale’s mouth is dry. He reaches out trembling fingers, slips the two hooks free, then steps back as if he’s been burned. 

Crowley turns back, peeling the bra down and off. His breasts are magnificent-- small and firm, rosy round nipples. Aziraphale looks and looks and looks. He watches as Crowley slides a hand down to pinch one nipple hard between his thumb and forefinger. Aziraphale thinks it would taste delicious beneath his tongue. Crowley’s head tilts back and he gives a soft moan. His other hand is sliding up, between his legs. Aziraphale is suddenly very concerned that Crowley is not going to take that skirt off, and he wants to see all of him, lying on this little bed in his small room. “Do you need help with your skirt?” he asks. His voice quavers a bit, but he sees Crowley stiffen. 

“Yes,” Crowley says. He hisses a little at the end of the word. “Please.” 

Crowley turns on the bed, so he’s on all fours, his posterior rising in the air. Aziraphale’s hands shake as he reaches for the zipper. His fingers grasp the edge of the skirt, brushing against Crowley’s lower back. Crowley’s skin feels hot against his fingers. Aziraphale uses his other hand to tug the zipper down and then pulls away so fast his back hits the opposite wall. Crowley shimmies out of the skirt. He’s wearing black thigh highs, a black lace garter belt, and no panties. Aziraphale can see red curls over his sex, remembers his fantasy of Crowley making him get down on his knees and use his tongue there. He feels a drop of precum escape his cock. 

Crowley arranges himself on the bed. He slides over Aziraphale’s satin sheets, letting the fabric touch all the parts of his skin. “You’re ssuch a hedonist,” Crowley admonishes him. “Satin sheets . . . oh, these must have felt lovely against your arse, your cock.” 

Aziraphale’s breath is coming faster. “They are . . . very nice.” 

Crowley spreads his thighs wide. “I’m so wet already,” he moans. “Can you see me? See how wet I am?” 

Aziraphale bites his lip, trying not to make a sound. He nods. 

“Good, that’s good, angel.” Crowley spreads his legs even wider. One hand slides down his abdomen, over his mons. He puts two fingers to either side of his lips and strokes up and down. “I want you to see me.” His head falls back to the pillow. “Did you think about me like this when you were touching yourself last night?” he asks. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale gasps. 

“Tell me what you thought about. What was I doing? What should I do?”

Aziraphale’s voice shakes. “Y- you were n- naked.” 

“Did I just suck you off? Or did you fuck me?” 

Aziraphale whimpers. 

“Or was it both? Did I suck you first and then you fucked my pussy?”

Aziraphale is achingly hard. He nods blindly. “Both, yes.” 

Crowley sits up straight on the bed, his hand still between his thigh moving faster and faster. He holds Aziraphale’s gaze. “Touch yourself now,” Crowley says. “Please, come with me.” 

Aziraphale feels powerless to resist the request. His hands are at his fly, pushing down pants and trousers, and then his cock springs free. He licks his palm, more familiar now with what to do, how to touch himself. He takes his cock firmly in hand, stroking up and down, watching Crowley’s fingers twisting his nipple, sliding into the wet slick between his thighs. He can see Crowley’s clit, pink and proud. Crowley is circling it with two fingers. His hips are canting forward. Then he gives a long and low moan, and his body clenches. “Oh, yes, Aziraphale!” 

Aziraphale’s hand is steady and swift around his cock. “Ohh.” 

“Come,” Crowley says. “Come right now, do it!” 

“Yes!” he shouts. And Aziraphale is coming. Coming harder than he has all night. It feels like an explosion. He thinks he can see stars. He falls to his knees, gasping, shaking. 

When he comes back to himself a few moments, Crowley is sitting on the bed, now entirely dressed. His glasses are back on his face and he has a very satisfied smirk on his features. “Good job, angel.” He snaps his fingers, and Aziraphale finds himself fully dressed in his Brother Francis costume, sitting next to Crowley. He’s too shell shocked from what’s just happened to worry over Crowley using a miracle on him and what Heaven and Hell could discern from that. Crowley touches his hand. “Time for me to get Warlock up.” He leans over and kisses Aziraphale’s cheek, then rises from the bed. 

“I won’t mention this again if you won’t,” Crowley offers. “It can be . . . a fantasy. That we both had.” Aziraphale does not know what to say. He’s absolutely stunned. He nods mutely. 

“Do you think Heaven is going to forgive you?”

“F- Forgive me? For-” he makes a large gesture that encompasses the entire room. Everything that’s happened in these four walls in past 16 hours. 

Crowley shakes his head. “Not for pulling one off, angel. For stopping their war against Hell.”

Aziraphale blinks. “Well, of course.” He shakes his head. “Of course, of course, they don’t want a war. We’re the good guys.” 

Crowley looks disappointed, but says nothing. 

Aziraphale stammers, “I mean, you’re a good-- you’re not--” He stops, bites his tongue gently and then begins again. “You don’t want a war, either.” 

“I don’t,” Crowley agrees. “We’ve been through countless wars, you and I. They’re boring and messy and everyone loses something in the end.” He opens the door to the room. “Don’t want to lose you.” 

Then he’s gone. 

Aziraphale’s head is spinning. He’s pretty sure that everything he has done is wrong. He wonders if there is forgiveness for angels. 

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for all the comments and kudos!


End file.
